North America
by Anna Sai
Summary: The whole story of America and his relationship with others as he tries to grow up in his true fathers foot steps. WARNING: Cavities may insue due to Alfreds extreem cuteness!
1. Chapter 1

"Papa…when will I grow to be big like you?"

"Small One, you are too impatient," Said a country large in stature. He sat comfortably on the grasslands of his domain with one of his sons by his side. His son was small, but was too much like himself that it wouldn't be long before he grew…and also make the same mistakes.

"Uncle says you were the same."

"Your Uncle has no right to say that given his attitude."

"Haha, he said the same thing!"

"Yeah?" he said making a mental note to go have a talk with his brother. His older brother, Central America, was always trying to butt into his business and try to assert his authority. Much to his older brothers' dismay, the younger brother, North America, had a natural talent for keeping what was his…by force if necessary. "And what about your Auntie?"

"She said you have a pen-pin-pen…"

"Pension?"

"Yeah, a pension for not sharing."

"Now that's not fair of her," he said running his hands through his dark hair. It was growing longer than usual, but he didn't care. His sister South America was a beauty and cold in her judgments; though that never meant that she was wrong.

"Do you know where your brother is?" North asked. The child shook his head.

"I haven't seen him lately. He doesn't like to talk to me."

"I see," he said nodding. The child shifted and looked at his hands. "So you like picking on your brother?"

"He makes it too easy!" Was the child's week excuse. "I can't hear half the things he says cause he's always mumbling!"

"That's because you never give him the chance," chided North. "I'm sure if you would give him confidence he'd become a very powerful friend."

"Uncle Central says that brothers are family, not friends."

North nodded, "of course. But your uncle knows this better than anyone that if your family isn't your friend as well, then when you're truly in need of help, that family will help you, yes, but the feeling of belonging won't be there."

"I don't get it," the child said frowning. The elder laughed.

"No, not yet, maybe. But you will."

* * *

><p>The years went by and North America – tired, old, and ready for a nap – disappeared along with his siblings.<p>

"What do you want, Mexico?" Little America said as his older cousin marched up to him. America had been enjoying himself on his west coast beaches and mountains. They where his favorite playground.

"I want this land!" he said his nose in the air.

"Yeah right, like I'd just give it to you!" America said drawing his bone handle knife.

"This land was rightfully my fathers and I'm here to claim it!" Miguel said making no move to arm himself.

"Your father was a crack pot that couldn't leave well enough alone!" Alfred said. It was no secret why North America disappeared right after a huge fight with his brother.

Angry, little America attacked and he and his cousin fought fist to fist, knife to knife until-

BANG!

An insane noise shot through the still air and the two boys stopped. Miguel got up and laughed as he stepped back. Behind Mexico was a man that America didn't recognize. He wasn't great shakes at remembering all of his cousins names, but he knew what they looked like at least. This man was tall with lighter skin and dark brown hair. His jacket was long and the colour of the dark blue lakes seen hidden in the mountains. Strange clothes that fluttered under his sleeves and neck caught Americas eyes and he frowned.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Spain," He said in a strange accent and drew the long thin sword from his side.

"Well, get out! You and you are not welcome on my land!" America went to attack this stranger as well.

And was beaten to a pulp.

In a furry he marched up to his brothers house.

"Brother! What's wrong?"

"Miguel attacked me!" America said flopping down and letting his brother tend to his injuries. "And he had some stranger help him too! Where did that guy come from?"

"Overseas most like," Matthew said quietly. "Father did like telling us of faraway places."

"Yeah, but those weren't supposed to be real! They were only fairytales!"

"I guess so…but you say you've never seen the guy, so…"

"Yeah, I guess they are real," America shivered. Those stories had been fun when they were stories. The very thought of them being real scared him to death.

"Actually, brother, I've been asked to go overseas as well…"

"WHAT?" America couldn't believe it! "You turned it down right? You're not gonna go, right?"

"Well," Canada shifted, "Now that fathers gone, it'll feel nice to be cared for once again."

Alfred could believe his ears. His own brother was going to leave him!

"D…do you hate me that much?"

"No!" Matthew said shaking his head. "I just…well I've had a new neighbor here for a while…and he scares me…"

"And you didn't tell me?" America jumped up and began marching down to the west coast of Canada.

The newcomer there was very tall. His hair was silvery and his eyes a cold purple.

"Brother, don't, you'll only make it worse…"

"Worse than you just giving up?" America snapped. To this stranger he said, "This is my brothers house and you will leave immediately!"

"Oh my, what a small soul," he said bending over.

"I told you to leave!" America shouted running on pure adrenaline. This man's eyes were scarier than the others.

"Why would I do that? This land is perfect for me."

"It's not yours!"

"Who says?"

"I DO!"

"I see…"

…and thus Little America was beaten again. Back in Canadas' main house Matthew tended Americas new wounds.

"You r-really shouldn't-"

"Oh? And what were you gonna do about it?" America snapped. "Stand up for yourself once in a while!"

"B-but brother…" Canada said prepared to be interrupted but wasn't. Alfred just glared. There were no words to describe how angry he was.

* * *

><p>Keeping these strangers out of his land was proving very hard.<p>

Because he'd just get beat up if he faced them himself, he set them against each other. He'd play pranks on them and make it look like the other guy did it. In the mean time he had to grit his teeth against Miguel and his new friend from taking over most of his southern half.

"This sucks-"

"Oh look, there he is!"

America jumped and looked behind him. Three strange men stood there looking at him as though he were made of gold. Scared out of his mind he bolted.

"Waitwaitwait! Look at this!"

Instinctively he turned to see two of the tree still following…so he ran harder.

"I…said...Waa~aait!"

He could hear their large and heavy footfalls over his soft fleeting movements. But they were getting slower and he could hear them gasping for air, so he quickly skirted up a tree and watched as they ran under him.

"I-it's your…fault…that he…ran," gasped the man with long hair.

"W-was not!" Said the other. "He…he took one look…at your pervy face…and ran for safety!"

"How rude! He probably smelled you and ran for cover!"

"Take that back you snail-sucker!"

America watched as they fought and yelled insults at each other. Well, this was one pair he wouldn't have to pit against each other; they were already at each other's throats.

What a bunch of fools, he thought, don't they know that no one is happy when you fight?

Angry beyond measure he grabbed two rotten crab apples from the tree he sat in and chucked them at their heads. They stopped fighting at looked up at him. The looks on their faces with rotten crab apple guck sliding down their faces made such a funny scene that America unexpectedly found himself laughing at them both.

"Hey, kid, why don't you come down here?" Said the man with very thick eyebrows.

America stopped laughing and shook his head.

"You poor thing," said the long haired man shoving the other guy aside. "You can come down here to big brother and I'll give you the nicest clothes. They really are the best~"

This man is insane, thought America. They both were! How could they wear all those clothes in this heat? America was quite happy with his native dress, and thus stayed in the tree.

"Are you stuck?" the bushy eyed one asked and began to climb the tree…or try to. But that was enough to make America book it again. He dropped to the ground and started to run and the strangers followed once more.

Persistent freaks!

Hiding in an alcove of rocks he made himself as small as possible.

"It's ok. Just come with me…it'll be just fine…I won't hurt you…" panted bushy-eye walking slowly toward America. America stared wide-eyed at the out stretched hand coming closer and closer. Fear clenched at his heart and made it difficult to move. Overcome and no were else to go America cried.

"England, you're scaring him!" The other man, again, shoved the bushy-eyed guy out of the way. "See here?" he waved at America who still couldn't stop shaking. "See? Would you like something to eat? You look hungry!"

Alfred stopped crying, but he still didn't move. The long haired guy wasn't moving toward him…but where was the other guy? Was he sneaking up behind him?

He quickly scaned the area and found the red coated guy hunched over and leaning against a tree. His shoulders were shaking and America wondered if he was crying.

But why? Why would this grown man cry?

"_Listen __Small __One, __a __good __adult __is __one __with __the __heart __of __a __child. __Only __then __will __they __be __able __to __understand __and __melt __evenly __with __the __generation __after.__"_

Was this man crying because he was crying? He slowly got to his feet.

"That's right!" said the long haired man. "Come to big broth-huh?"

America walked over to the other man and poked his shoulder. "Mister, why are you crying?"

"Huh?" Said England raising his head.

"Why are you crying?"

"I-I wasn't crying!" He said standing and giving a robust laugh.

"You weren't?"

"Nope!"

"Oh…" America looked from one to the other. "Then…" he slowly started backing away.

"Now, now," said the long haired man. He had come up behind America and picked him up. "Don't go running away again."

Americas mind flooded with fear and he flailed and kicked in panic. He wasn't used to being picked up. North America always let him walk by himself.

"France, let him down," said England.

"Why should I?" he responded but was having a hard time keeping hold of the fighting child. "Just give me a-"

America saw his chance and bit his captors' hand. France shouted and dropped him.

"You-!"

"Back off France!" England shouted pulling America behind him and pushing France back.

"That little brat bit me!"

"You had no right grabbing him like that!"

"Oh, like you want you want to go running after him again?"

"No, I don't," England said. "Maybe we should come back tomorrow." He turns to look back at the child. "Is that ok with you?"

America blinked, unsure what to make of this. So he shook his head and ran away.

As he ran he wondered about the two strangers that he just met. There was defiantly no way he was going to tolerate the long-haired one anymore. He shuddered at the thought of that one.

The other one reminded him a little of Father…maybe not. But there was something about him that America liked.

* * *

><p>"What do you want?"<p>

America jumped. He thought he'd come up on the man in red without him noticing. Now he turned around and smiled at the child half hidden in the bushes.

"Nothing," said Alfred.

"Would you join me?" England said holding up a makeshift fishing pole. America didn't move and time moved forward sluggishly.

"Mmmm," America slowly moved forward and sat next to the pond a good three feet from the stranger.

England smiled and went back to his fishing. He began to whistle as he felt the silence heavily.

"What's that song called?" America asked unable to help himself. If there was one thing he liked above all else, it was music.

"What, this?" And he whistled the tune again. America nodded. "It's an old, old song from my country. This is actually only one part of the song. There are four other parts as well and when they're played together it makes a wonderful sound."

"Really?" Alfred inched closer. "Does it sound really good?"

"Yes, and it's fun to dance to as well," England said noticing the child's movements.

"You dance too?"

"Yes, we have large rooms set aside only for the best dances!"

"…Wow…" America said now well within a foot distance and eyes wide.

"You like songs and dances?" England asked even though the answer was quite obvious. America sat back, suddenly shy.

"Mmm," he said. Then he closed his eyes and thought about the clear nights, the large bon fires…

"I like a lone pipe playing when it's echoing across the plains. You can hear it for miles and miles! And drum beats under a bright moon in the mountains; its fills me with excitement and peace."

Realizing what he'd just shared he turned a dark shade of red.

"I can see that," England said nodding, even though he didn't much care for the locals' music himself. "I'm more of a lover of the violin. The cords of a good violin can send a chill down your spine and send peace to my own soul."

"What's a violin?" America asked unfamiliar with this instrument. "Is it like a pipe?"

"Oh no, it's like a…a…" England couldn't for the life of him think of an instrument to compare it to. "Well, I'll just have to show you some day now wont I?"

"Mmm, and I'll have to show you…" America froze.

Since when did talking to this stranger become so comfortable?

"Show me what?" England said nonchalantly. This kid was adorable.

"Nothin'," America said. "Even if I wanted to I couldn't. Mexico won't let me into _my_ western mountains." When England didn't comment Alfred continued. He hadn't complained to Canada because he wasn't there anymore and to have someone to talk to was a very nice.

"Mexico got some big jerk to help take over my lands, MY inheritance! They have no right getting their grubby hands on my beaches and mountains."

But now America was ranting. "Who asked you jerks to come over and ruin everything! Why couldn't you people just leave us alone!"

"Because a country that doesn't expand is dead, and not just that," England said calmly. "Culture is a marvelous thing. To be shut away and not know the feel of foreign soil under your feet…it's a sad thing."

"Culture? What's that," America asked leaning forward once more.

"Culture is how other people live," England said smiling. "Take our differences. You like drums, and I like the violin; that has to do with culture. It's the way we were raised. Being able to taste a different way of life other than your own is a thrill; dare I say addicting."

"Is it that interesting?"

"Even more so," England said leaning over as though he were about to tell the biggest secret ever. America leaned in as well, eager to hear it. "It's very beautiful."

"What?"

"Don't go telling France I said that, but it is," England said nodding. "I don't know any other way to describe it. There are no human words to say it anyway."

America sat and digested this bit of information.

Did Father travel himself? Is that how he knew all those bed time stories? If so, who did he meet? What did he learn? What did he find? How did he do it?

"Mister," America said after a long while. "Will you take me to see these lands?"

"Are you sure you want me a – what did you say – a 'jerk' to take you places?"

"I'm not big enough to fight Miguel and his friend by myself," America said. "I want to get stronger so I can win back what is rightfully mine."

"I see," England said, "how about I help you with that then?"

America smiled truly for the first time since all this change started happening. It was as though a large boulder had been lifted from his shoulders.

America liked this man; England. When he talked of different lands he had the same look in his eyes as Father North did. His voice was soothing and America – though to this day he would never admit it – was lonely and starving for company.

* * *

><p>"Waaa~ Is this your house?" America said running through the door and turning to get a 360 view.<p>

"Yes," England said following and hoping the excited child didn't bump and break anything. He sighed after his long time away, but work wasn't finished yet.

"Alright you," England said picking the kid up. America froze as the ground grew further and further away. "Into the tub you go."

"Wha~?" America squirmed and tried to push him away. He really didn't liked being picked up.

"There's no getting out of it," England said misreading the childs actions as a dislike for baths. "you're filthy and we'll have to do something about those beads in your hair…"

"NO!" America covered his head as England dumped him into a tub full of water. "Not the beads!"

"Shush, it's not that bad…see? The soap smells really good too-"

"OWWWW!"

"Hey-hey! Don't open your eyes!"

"OWWWW!"

"Stop squirming and- I'm not done scrubbing so don't rinse yet!"

"Stop! It's gross!"

"You-you're not supposed to eat the soap-"

"What is that?"

"Nodon'tpull…that…"

And the water drained from the tub leaving a child covered in soap, and a grown country looking very undignified.

That evening Arthur sat in his favorite armchair and groaned slightly. Was taking care of a new country that much work? He couldn't remember, but he hoped this would get easier.

America frowned at his new outfit (he was able to keep his beads…for the moment at least). If he was in a new country then it made sense to dress like them…but it seemed…a little too odd. A red ribbon around the top of a long shirt created a ruffle and the sleeves went down to his wrist and also ended in a ruffle. The shirt ended at just below his knees. America had asked if this was truly what people dressed like and was told that children this age usually did. Still…

He peered around the corner and spotted England with his eyes closed and breathing evenly. Walking quietly, America made it to the chair and climbed up on it with expertise; not bothering the occupant.

That was right, he thought working his way slowly against England's side, thinking, I can hear his heart beating…I can smell his hard work…and he's so warm…

England started and, feeling awfully crowded in his chair he looked to find America snuggled close with his face half buried into his side.

"Are you asleep?" He asked quietly not wanting to risk waking him up if he was.

"Mm-mm," the child said opening one eye and turning it up at him.

"I thought I put you to bed, mister," England said frowning but finding it nearly impossible to really be angry.

America thought for a moment, then asked, "When will I grow to be big?"

Arthur didn't know what to say. There were so many – too many ways to answer that question. But which one was right for a child?

"Well," England said biting his lower lip; then it came to him. "When you're ready; it never does to be impatient."

Was that the right answer?

"I see," was all the child said, then, "do you fight a lot?"

"Ah," England hit another wall. "When I have to; war isn't something anyone enjoys, per-say, but it's necessary at times."

"Like expanding?"

"Yes, like that," England said pleased that he'd been understood. But wasn't all too sure when a scowl crossed the boys face.

"I don't like fighting," he said, "especially family. They shouldn't fight."

"Can't say I've had a lot of experience with family," England said, "but I agree with that concept. Families shouldn't fight.

"Why do you think they shouldn't fight?" America asked looking up and England with large eyes that seemed to be scanning for any weakness or indecision.

"Well," Again England couldn't come up with an answer that would even satisfy him, let alone the child. There was Scotland, Wales, ad Ireland which could be looked at as family, but they all hated him with a fierce passion. So why shouldn't families fight? It was only natural that they should…or natural that it was inevitable that they would. But how do you explain something like this to a child?

"Well?" America asked not unkindly but not blinking either.

"Families are going to have their disagreements because they're different people," England said trying his best to find simple terms. "Different people have different opinions; there's no getting around that. The trick is to be accepting to their differences and get along with them that way."

"That doesn't answer my question," America said, but smiled a little.

"Well, no, but I'm getting there," England cleared his throat. "Families are going to fight, but that doesn't make fighting bad. Neither is fighting with your family, but what is bad is fighting for the wrong reasons."

"Reasons?"

"Yes," England said nodding now that he had a firm platform to stand on. "If your reason for fighting is unrighteous, then you are not only hurting others, but yourself as well."

America thought about this for a moment. Father North had often used the term righteous and unrighteous and talked about the choices we had to make. But then, Father had always been prepared for war. He loved peace, no one knew that better than the twins, but that didn't mean you had to be stupid and not prepare to protect yourself.

"_Little Ones, you must not only strengthen your body, but your minds, hearts, and understanding. That way you could easily stop a fight from happening in the first place…Even though I have to fight against your Uncle, sometimes it is necessary. I would rather fight against him than lose the both of you to him."_

"I see…" the child said starting to cry. England, on the verge of panicking, pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the boy's face.

"Come now, it's not that terrible," He said.

"B-but I don't want anyone to disappear," America said trying to hide his face.

"Who said I'm going to disappear!" England said a little offended and worried. This kid hadn't heard France talking or something, had he?

"When you fight you disappear…Don't go away!" And he buried his face in Englands' lap.

"I'm not going anywhere," England said a little more gently. "I'm super strong, so I'm more than capable of winning."

The child cried harder. Now England was losing his nerve.

"Look, hey," England lifted the child and held him on his lap. Instinctively he patting the boys head, his back, and rocked him a little. "Now is not the time to be worrying about this. Right now, you should be asleep and tomorrow we have a big day!"

"One should always think of the future," America said but couldn't help a yawn as he rested his head against Englands chest.

"Only day by day," Came the adults response as the child fell asleep. "Think about your future one day at a time."

...TBC...


	2. Chapter 2

The time that followed was bright and happy. America learned to love this awkward gent, but still hid minor things from him. Case in point: When France came over to cut his hair. The door rang and America was the first to it. England was in the back getting the stool ready.

"Hello there," France said taking off his hat and sweeping into the room. "Goodness, you are looking much better than you did before. Now I'm here to finish it off~! You will look amaz-"

America, unimpressed, landed a sharp kick on France's shin, stuck out his tongue, and then ran off.

"You little-"

"Ah, France, you made it," England said coming into the room. America holding to the larger country's pants; looking to all the world like an innocent child. France grit his teeth and silently swore.

"Alright, let's get this over with, shall we," France said rubbing his hands together and, behind Englands back, France and America glared at each other. They walked out into the back garden and America crawled up into the stool.

"I want England to cut my hair," America said stubbornly.

"We've been over this," England said shaking his head. "France has come all this way, now, hold still while he works. And don't worry, I'll be here to make sure he doesn't try anything."

"You're faith in me astounds me," France said rolling his eyes.

"Just do it and get out," England said sitting down at a small table.

America held as still as a child could during their very first hair cut. He kept trying to look over his shoulder and was very unnerved by the sound the scissors made. After a bit he hunched his shoulders and squeezed his eyes shut.

"There," France said running his hand though his own locks. "That should do it~"

America felt his head, and screamed. The other two jumped and watched as the child leaped off the stool and searched the ground for his beads. They were scattered around and some rolled off the porch and into the rose bush. But before he was able to dive into that, England swooped down and collected him up in his arms.

"What do you think you're doing?" He scolded. "You're getting your clothes all dirty."

"But my beads! And my feathers!" America was now in tears. He had collected some of his beads, but the feathers had blown clean away. They had been his right to have them. His father had put them there himself.

"You look much better without them," Chipped in France. America squirmed out of Englands hold and ran back into the house.

"I'm going home!" America snapped as he slammed the door.

"You have less skill with kids than I do," England said shaking his head.

"No, that kid is just an odd duck," France said scowling. "Nothing good can come from a little brat like that."

"That's my 'little brat' France, and I'll like it very much if you just disappear," England said opening the garden gate that lead out to the front. "I'll pay you on my way tomorrow. I've got damage control to see to at the moment."

"You couldn't control that little freak even if you weren't a loser," Said France as though he were giving a compliment. "You might as well give him to me, I just so happen to have more experience-"

"Get. Out."

"Fine." France nodded and left.

Inside England found America trying – and failing – to put the beads back in his hair. Now that his hair was much shorter than it was before, the beads didn't seem to want to stay.

"Hey," England said sitting next to him. America scowled and scooted away. "Now don't be like that."

"These are mine. I earned these," the child muttered trying once more to put them back on.

"Then put them in here," England said pulling out a small wooden box. "It would be a shame to throw them away, so put them in here. They will only belong to you."

America stared hard at the box for such a long time England had to concentrate on not shifting his weight in agitation. Then the child took the box and dropped his small handful of beads into it.

"This is mine."

"All yours," England said nodding.

"Good," America smiled. "Can I still go home now?"

England shook his head. "Not yet.  
>"Wha'dya mean?"<p>

"You mean, 'what do you' mean," corrected England. "And I mean that I would like to look after you just a little bit longer. Is that ok?"

America thought about it.

"Fine, but only for a while. I have to get back and kick Miguel back to where he came from."

It was dark that night and America snuck out to collect more of his beads. England hadn't let him do it, so if did it at night, washed up quickly and went back to bed, then he wouldn't ever know.

"What's a small child doing out so late at night?" France said quietly. America turned to face this country and backed slowly.

"You're not allowed to be here," America said reaching for his bone handle knife, only to find that he didn't have it.

"Let me guess," France said holding up a fist. "You were looking for these?"

He opened his hand to show a handful of beads.

"Those're mine!"

"No, they were yours. But you decided to be with England. He basically made sure you wouldn't ever have these back."

"Give them back!" America tried to kick him again, but France was ready for it. He moved to one side reached down and picked the furious child up. America had gotten used to this form of affection, but anyone other than England was unacceptable. But before he could start screaming France covered his mouth.

"Bite me and this house goes up in flames," France hissed. America froze. As France began to walk away he started to squirm again. If he could do anything right, it was getting out of tight places, figuratively speaking and literally. Frances grip was really tight and a moment of panic took over and America thought that he had somehow been out matched.

"France?"

America snapped his head up. There on the road ahead was Matthew.

"Canada, what are you doing out of bed?" France said with an almost simpering voice. "You know sleep is important for the skin-"

"Brother?!"

"Bro-?"

"Brother! Where did you come from?!" Matthew reached up and began to tug on America. France, rather bewildered, let go without thinking. Immediately America turned and kicked him, and then kicked him again once France was lower to the ground.

"Alfred, stop! Don't do that to France!"

"Shadawp!" America shouted. His brother backing away from his anger. "What're you doing with this scum?!"

"Th-those are some harsh words…little one," France said grabbing America by the hair and throwing him to the ground.

"France, not to brother!"

"You giant jerk! How dare you kidnap my brother and then try to kidnap me!" America stood fists clenched.

"Calm down Alfred, plea-"

"Try it little freak," France said and aimed a kick which caught America in the gut and sent him back a few feet.

"France, don't-"

Matthew was in tears and America was trying his best to get a breath of air. France walked over to his cute child and patted him on the head.

"I'm sorry to have worried you," he said.

"Oh? Don't you think your apologizing to the wrong person?"

France felt a chill down his spine as he turned to see England standing right behind him. England made short and rather messy work of the other country.

While they fought, Canada went to his brother. America was still gasping; looked like France didn't hold back any in that kick. But what Canada feared was the look on his brothers face. Canada knew his brother in and out, and knew that if he didn't do something and fast, America was going to go berserk. His brother didn't like being in pain. Also, Matthew knew that if Alfred was over on this side of the ocean then he'd had to compromise and was probably holding back on most of his emotion. Now it was threatening to come rushing out and Canada wasn't sure if even he'd be spared.

"America?"

Canada jumped slightly as England – finished with France – began to walk over. Quickly Matthew grabbed America and wrapped his arms around his head, hiding his face from view.

"I wanna s-stay with m-my brother," Canada said, but his lips got in the way.

"And who might you be?" England said walking around to face Canada. "You're a bit young to be an accomplice."

Canada didn't know how to respond. France always told him how evil this man was.

"You leave Canada alone England," France said trying his hardest to get up. "He's not in on it."

"I-" Canada said but his voice only came out as bit of air.

"Yes," England said turning back to the child.

"I…uh…w-w-want t-tt-to-"

"Well, spit it out," England said losing patience. "Here, give America to me."

Canada shook his head and readjusted his hold so that he could hold tighter without suffocating him. England tried to pry his arms apart, but surprisingly Canada would budge. Canada could already feel his brother relaxing a little. He only needed a bit more time.

America then moved and hugged his brother also. With England behind him, only France saw the devilish look peaking over the top of Canada's shoulder. Then put his head down.

"Do you hate me Matthew?" America mumbled.

"N-no," Canada said relieved that his brother was back to normal.

"Good, cause I don't hate you."

England watched this with dawning comprehension.

"I see," he said, "how about you both come to my house and I'll get you both something hot to drink?"

"Ok," Matthew said. America Patted Matthew on the head.

"England is better anyway," America said. "He knows a'lot about music."

"Really?"

"Th-that's really low!" France cried coming over. "Using that little brat to take my new country away."

"No, you really brought this on yourself," England said. "If you would have just stayed away like I said, then they would never have met again. But now that they're together, I highly doubt that they'll be parted again."

"F-France," Canada said shyly. "I'm thankful and I like you a lot, but I like Alfred more."

"That's right you giant perv," America said copying what he'd heard England say before and taking his hand.

"What-"

"That's enough," England said. "France, we'll talk about this tomorrow. I'm tired and if you bother me again tonight I really will kill you this time."

* * *

><p>"Hurry Mat!" America whispered as he dragged his brother out of bed. "I just heard England come home!"<p>

"But," Canada staggered slightly as tried to keep up. "He probably wants to sit in his chair. We shouldn't bother him."

"Come on Mat! Father always liked to see us whenever he came home, why should England be any different?"

"But he-" Mat bit his tongue. He had loved Father as much as Alfred, but his death didn't have the same effect on him the way it had on his brother. It had caused Alfred to become much more introverted. Before, America and Canada played all the time. True Alfred always picked on Matthew, but Mat always knew what his brother was thinking. Now the smiles were more…desperate. Still, it was better than nothing.

"ENGLAND!" America burst into the room, his arms spread wide. Matthew ran into America and looked passed him. Englands eyes were closed and his head wrapped in a messy bandage. His arm in a sling and blood trickled out of a tear in his shoulder.

"Mat get the first aid kit and the bandages," Alfred snapped. Canada got them immediately and returned to a small argument.

"What are you two doing out of bed?"

"We're gonna help you," America said giving a sweet smile that England had hardly ever said no to. This was an exception. He reached up to unwrap the bandages and England slapped his hand away.

"I told you to go to bed. This is nothing."

"But England," Mat said rushing to his brothers side. "We know a lot about the art of healing. We've been taking care of each other for a long time. We-"

"FINE!" Roared the adult country. He was in pain and not in a patient set of mind. He sat back in his chair with a tired sigh. "In the morning. But right now you will go to bed."

The children stayed for a moment longer and then slowly backed out of the room. Walking down the hall and then up the stairs Alfred and Mat latched onto each other. They were not stupid. Their Father had come back from battle looking sometimes worse than that. They had always helped him with his injuries and they found a loving comfort in his joy at being able to see them safe.

"Mat," came Alfred voice as they pulled the covers over themselves.

"Yes?"

"I-I don't think I like being told what to do…" Americas voice sounded thick. "We should be down there helping…"

Canada climbed out of his own bed and slipped under the covers next to America. Alfred would never allow Canada to see him cry; he would absolutely die of embarrassment. So America merely held his brothers hand and they both slept.

England woke up and groaned as he looked at the time; it was almost noon. He had to get up and cook breakfast for the kids.

He got up and stumbled as he fought his bathrobe and slippers. He washed up and fixed his hurts trying to make them as little as possible. If word got out that he was hurt the whole world would be after his blood.

"Good Morning England!" Chorused the two children as England entered the kitchen. Canada jumped down from the chair next to the stove and led Arthur to the table. America jumped down from the chair that he'd dragged over to the stove. Food fell from plate he held and even more fell off as he reached over the table to set it in front of England.

"See?" Alfred said. "If we can look after ourselves, then we can help you too."

"Yup!" Mat said, "So don't push us away any more, k?"

This was new.

England looked at these boys and had to fight back tears. Normally it was the other way around; him clinging and the others pushing away.

"Forgive me," He said and kissed them both. "Thank you."

"Any time, right Alfred?"

"Mmm," America nodded, grinning. "Next time you act so stupid I'll break your nose."

Alfred was still smiling as he kissed England on the cheek.

"Common Mat," he said grabbing his shocked brothers hand. "Englands head must hurt so we gotta play outside today."

Okay, England thought playing with his food and thinking about the words that just came out of his cute childs mouth. Okay, so maybe I really was a tad harsh last night…

"Alfred, what was that?" Canada said once they were out in the back garden. "You've never threatened anyone like that before."

"Mm, I don't quite know either, but I was really annoyed," America said crossing his arms. "I don't like being underestimated! And have you heard what everyone says about him? Could he not stick out like a sore thumb?"

"But, I thought you liked him," Canada said, perplexed.

"I do like him, a lot!" Alfred shook his head. "I really like him, but sometimes he does stupid things like, like…"

"Not accepting help?"

"Yeah!"

"Not listening to reason?"

"Yeah, that too."

"Sounds like you," Mat said unimpressed.

"That-" America stopped and then hung his head. Yeah, he was like that too. "I accept help…" he said lamely.

"Only when you want to vent at the same time," Mat countered. "Don't deny it, I know you better than anyone."

Though, Canada thought, I starting to wonder if I really do.

America sighed and shrugged.

"Fine, I'll say sorry later after he's had time to himself," he said. "Till then I'll race you!"

"THAT'S NOT FAIR!" Mat cried as he ran after Alfred to the apple orchard.

* * *

><p>"So I can go home now?!" America shouted over breakfast one morning.<p>

"Calm down and eat," England said smacking the childs fingers as he reached across the table for the syrup. "Ask for it, don't reach."

"Ok," America said happily. Normally he complies with a grumble, but England had said he could go home now! He had been starting to think that the larger country would go back on his word but America was never happier to be proven wrong.

"I'm going too!" Canada said passing his brother the syrup. The two of them talked and talked about what they'd do when they got back.

"I for one plan on starting my strategy for kicking Miguels butt back where it belongs!"

"Don't talk like that," England snapped. "That talk isn't for children."

"But you're gonna help me, right England?" America asked turning up the charm. "You did promise."

"I did, but its more complicated than that," he said with a sigh. Relations with Spain were already down the tubes without a war breaking out in the western hemisphere as well.

"Whats so complicated about kicking Miguels-"

"Alfred, England's trying to say that Spain is still backing Miguel," Canada said. "It'll get really messy."

"Well, duh," America said rolling his eyes. "But nothing ever got done without a few scrapes. I want my home back! All of it!"

"That's enough of this talk," England said firmly. "Even back in your own homes I am still your care taker, are we clear? No fighting Miguel till I give you permission. I've still got things to settle on this side of the world, alright?"

"Yes, England," America said relenting.

"What?!" The two boys immediately latched themselves onto Englands middle. "You're leaving so soon?"

"But we just got here!" Canada said.

"Yeah, now its your turn to stay!" America added.

"I apologize kids, but I really have to get things done," England said his heart melting over this small worried faces. These kids had an influence over him like nothing else did in his entire existence.

"I promise to come back soon, is that ok?"

"But-" America wasn't too sure. He'd been told to be wary of people who made too many promises.

"On my honor I shall return, and when I do we'll put all your land to rights, ok?"

That was all America needed to hear. "That's a Roger!" And he sprinted off.

England watched him go and couldn't help but notice the hard pit of worry start to form in his gut. Something was off…

Something was wrong…

Man, being a parent really made you into a worrywart. He shook it off and instead kissed Matt good-bye.

America found that his home looked…different, from the last time he was there. The new clothes that he'd grown accustom to would not allow him to live and romp around like he had before. He wondered when it had been that he was so used to walking instead of running. When was it that he began to think before climbing a tree, or eating what he wanted? It was wrong in every sense…but before he thought about that he had to make a new life here; that much was obvious. If there was anything that England had taught him- that coincided with what Father taught- it was the subject of order. And he had some wonderful ideas. Now it was his turn. He may still be smaller than the usual country, but he was a country with big ideas with the energy and excitement to pull it off.


	3. Chapter 3

It started slowly.

Little by little. Baby step by baby step.

Like a shallow slope America and England grew further and further apart.

What stated it really neither could say exactly, it just happened.

America offered his best to help to England like he had said he would when England needed his help. He loved helping England and feeling like he was part of the older countries life. England even kept his promise and gained most of Americas land back. Everything was so wonderful America hardly cared that England came to visit less and less.

Canada kept more in touch with England and would read the letters he got with his brother. They built up their nations and soon were growing at a remarkable rate. Canada and America both shared their ideas and often fought about small choices, but ended up going their own way and moving on to a different subject. America began to understand why Father had said he should become Matts' best friend; things were so much better when they got along. Matt had some really good ideas and America felt comfortable sharing his own wild ones with him.

One day England sent America a letter asking him to help pay off some bills. America was familiar with this and shrugged it off. He benefited from living with England so it made sense that he should help England with the bills. But then a few days later he got another letter telling him to "stay put". Confused, America hesitated and wondered if he was supposed to stay because England was coming to visit.

But he didn't come.

So America shrugged and went along his way. Farming had become harder by the year and now that America had more of his lands back, he felt it high time to go do some serious farming. He put together his hiking kit and his bed roll. It was a beautiful morning when he set out. He didn't get over the first mountain before he heard someone shouting behind him. Turning, he found England marching after him looking pretty angry.

"What's up England?" Alfred called grinning and waving. "Nice day today. Wanna walk with me?"

"I thought I told you to stay put," England snapped when he caught up with him.

"Well, yeah, but I didn't get it. I stayed and nothing happened, sooo…" America raised an eyebrow; something he had picked up as a child from his Aunt South. He didn't know, but that look did nothing for Englands temper on a good day. Today was not a good day.

"I'm busy enough without having to explain myself every time. Just trust me and keep out of these mountains!"

"Then how am I supposed to get to the other side?" America asked the obvious hoping to nudge some sense into the obviously flustered country. "There's plenty of farm land over there that could be a real help-"

"America," England sighed rubbing his head. "Just do as you're told, please!"

A scowl flashed across Americas face before he quickly hid it. He really hated being told what to do; however he did have respect for this older country. On the other hand, England had the habit of becoming flustered and losing sense of reality- in Americas point of view any way. Farming was a way to make money in which he could help England and still maintain his own economy.

The last time America mentioned economy, though, England had not taken it very well. England had said he was too young and naive to be thinking about economy let alone talking about it. So Alfred sighed and started to try and figure out a way to make money without expanding.

It was very difficult.

"Hey, England, how long before I can go over the mountains?" America asked for the hundredth time. England sighed again.

"I don't know, just not now!"

America turned back to his book. England was upset, well, that didn't mean he could do whatever he liked, thought Alfred. England had taken to just barging into his home without first informing Al of his coming; leaving Al unprepared with dinner preparations. There were times where he wouldn't even have a bed made up in time, which then England would complain about how he hadn't raised him to be so inhospitable and forgetful.

So, pissed, America decided to go farm his own land which was his to begin with. Somehow England always knew when he was going and was always there to stop him. It was irritating and finally, instead of going back when caught, he made a run for it.

"Get back here!"

"No!"

"Now!"

"Make me old man!"

….And England did. He pinned down the angry child, threw him over his shoulder, and marched him straight back to the house kicking and spitting insults.

Now, England had never seen this side of America before. He had only caught a glimpse of it once when Al had threatened to break his nose, but had forgotten about it. Now, he recalled it as he locked the small country in his room. How had he missed this? He had thought America was an even tempered child, borderline angelic in nature, but this, this was insane! He had never acted like this before! And where had he gotten off calling him an "old man"? England was in his prime! He was great and powerful!

America never stopped trying to get across the mountains, but then something else caught his attention. Not only had England raised the price of his merchandise, but he was openly complaining about the quality of currency! England was now saying that he would only accept certain currency and America had little to none of it. He went to Canada for advice and to see if he had that kind of currency. Canada hadn't the right money either and was as stumped as he.

Tiered he tried to reason with England again, but it only ended in a shouting match. Insults and heated tempers nearly coming to a boiling point before the other would stomp away. One night England demanded that America pay extra for the goods he brought back overseas. In turn America started to make his own things, becoming more and more unreliant on the larger country.

Things began to take on a tit-for-tat or cause and effect regime. Every threat was responded to in a defiant manor and their argument became nastier by the day. Canada tried to calm them down, but after a while he just backed off. There was nothing he could see that he could do. His brother who he thought he knew well had changed drastically. He knew his brother had a temper in the past and that he had been holding back over the years, but he had also thought that he had been healed of that temper. Canada still loved England, but he liked his brother too, so he stepped back and hopped things would get better on their own.

One night England came through the door and demanded to know where the tea was. America looked up from that evenings newspaper and his saucer of coffee and gave a small shrug.

"Strange," he said "the ship came in already…perhaps you should check the bay?"

Needless to say, THAT little incident did not end well. England blamed Al and Al nonchalantly denied it- making it clear that he did it and he didn't care. England was purple in the face before he was done shouting that week.

"And where do you think you are going?" asked England as America opened his front door. He really was not in the mood to play this stupid game so early in the morning.

"Oh, I don'no," Al said with a half shrug. "I thought I'd visit Matt, then farm some so I could pay your stupid bills!"

"You will stay inside today," England said with the air of one making a final decision that was actually going to be obeyed. Fat chance of that. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly America replied in the most tactful way he could muster.

"Bite me."

England walked forward forcing America to back up back into his house. And another argument took place.

"GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" America roared.

"THIS IS MY HOUSE!" England roared back. "I OWN YOU!"

England didn't see the fist till it made contact with his left eye.

~FB~

"Hey, England! Let me try!" America ran across the garden to the open field England used to practice shooting.

"This is a dangerous weapon," England said patting the childs head.

"Matts sick and I'm bored," Al said ignoring what was just said. "Let me try, please? Teach me so I can be strong too!"

England bit his lip. His common sense told him that he shouldn't, but the thought that France might take him away again made England think that if it wouldn't be too bad if the kid knew how to protect himself. England taught America how to clean the gun first and how to take care of it. He made sure that the child had down pat the maintenance of it before he ever let him shoot it. America was a very fast learner. Matt recovered from his illness but when America told him to practice will him Canada shook his head.

"It's too loud and it's dangerous," Matt said frowning. "I'll stay inside."

America shrugged and left to practice. Soon England gave America his own gun- making the child the happiest ever

~Pres~

England knew now why his common sense was telling him it was a back idea to teach any country how to use a weapon.

It would be more often than not, be turned back on the teacher.


End file.
